Mi Piace, Mi Piaci
by silverivy13
Summary: Mista liked to think that he was a pretty simple guy. He knew what he liked and what he didn't like. Or: Mista talks about things he likes. It just so happens that Giorno is in most of them.


**A/N: Mista talks about the things he likes. Giorno is there.**

* * *

Mista liked to think that he was a pretty simple guy. He woke up at the same time everyday, he followed the same person around no matter where they went, and he did his best to retire each night around the same time. It didn't matter that nine times out of ten, something didn't work out right and he either went to bed way too late or just pulled an all-nighter with his boss, but the fact remained that he tried. He had a routine.

He also knew what he liked and what he didn't like, and there weren't a lot of things he disliked. The number four and… well, that was probably it, actually. Oh, and people who tried to kill him or his boss or people who he cared about, but he figured that was fairly standard.

As for what he liked, well, the list could go on and on: foods, movies, music, people, there was just so _much_. Still, he supposed he did have his own personal favorites.

As far as food went, it was rare that he encountered something he didn't like to eat, and rarer still something that he simply _wouldn't_ eat, but there was something that he could eat every day for the rest of his life and die a happy and content man, and that was tripe.

The subtle texture that was smooth and just the slightest bit chewy, the way it absorbed any other flavors so damn well, how it was healthier for you than other meats (Mista didn't care about that part but Fugo told him that once and it gave him yet another reason to cite its amazingness to others), how there was only three types (he refused to acknowledge the fourth), how it practically slid down your throat, tripe was absolutely divine, and seriously, fuck you Narancia, cow stomach isn't gross you little asshole, you like mushrooms, those are way nastier, they're literally a fungus.

Way back when he was a little kid, his dad took him to a surprisingly decent restaurant for his sixth birthday and he had ordered trippa alla fiorentina and promptly had fallen in love with the stuff. Learning what it was only put him off for so long before he gave up and decided that really, wasn't it better to use all the cow anyway, and if he didn't eat it, it might get thrown out, and honestly wasn't it his duty as an Italian to eat the stuff?

He only liked it more after the first time he got Giorno to try it. Of course he hadn't said what it was, just ordered the most expensive tripe dish he could find on the menu of the way-too-fancy restaurant the man had chosen for them. Obviously, it was _way _too much for him to eat alone ("You know how I eat like a rabbit, Giorno"), so he had simply pushed the dish towards the don and offered him some.

Giorno had eyed him suspiciously because really, when was anything ever too much for Mista to eat himself, before reaching out to grab Mista's fork, eating the slice of tomato-and-garlic-covered tripe on it rather than helping himself to the plate. Mista liked to think that his thought of '_indirect kiss'_ was a perfectly natural one for a guy his age to think about someone as pretty as Giorno, even if he was the same gender.

As he chewed, Giorno had made a face like he was thinking. Watching his adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed, Mista had grinned when Giorno looked at him with a satisfied expression on his face.

"Like it?" he asked, already able to tell the answer from years of experience reading the don's facial features.

"It was very good," Giorno had replied, dabbing the remaining tomato sauce on his lips with his napkin and damn, Mista had wanted to point that out and tease him a little but oh well. "The texture is a bit odd though."

"Well yeah, innards 'r like that."

"..._what?"_

Biting back a snicker at the absolute shock in Giorno's voice, Mista had turned to him with a grin and elaborated, "Those were offals. Y'know, cow parts? Entrails? Internal or-"

"Yes, I get that," Giorno cut him off, suddenly looking a little green around the gills. "You… you tricked me into eating _cow stomach_."

"Yeah, but it was good cow stomach, right boss?"

Giorno had looked at him for a few seconds like he wanted to say something else, but simply shook his head and went back to his own food. There was a great show made of how he pushed the plate of tripe back towards Mista, but the gunman's keen eyes didn't miss the two times Giorno snuck his fork back over to his plate to steal some of the tripe.

And just his luck, of course it made perfect sense that he had had tripe for lunch the day he saw the absolute best movie of all time in a tiny theatre where he accidentally snuck into the wrong showing but fell in love anyway.

He had been a bit too quick about ducking into the right showing, and by the time he'd realized that it wasn't Braveheart he'd managed to get into (which he really should have noticed sooner, they didn't even have the same century in common), he didn't really care anymore. After all, anyone at all knew that any Clint Eastwood movie was amazing, and no, Mista wasn't biased at all, it was just a simple fact. It just so happened that Meryl Streep was there too, and he knew she was really big too, so the movie had to be good right?

When he cried when Francesca made her choice, he had chalked it up to teenage hormones, even if he wasn't quite a teenager yet. Admitting he cried over a chick flick was not something a twelve-year-old boy could do and live with; the shame and teasing would literally _kill_ him. But when he watched it again and still found himself tearing up, well shit, there went his excuse. Oh well, y'know what, who says a guy can't be super manly and cool and still tear up over movies? Certainly not Mista. Besides, don't a lady like it when their guy has feelings?

The first time he'd shown _The Bridges of Madison County_ to the guys, he heard no end of "Tell me again"s and "This kind of certainty"s from Fugo, Narancia, even Abbacchio who was one hundred percent joining in because he could tell it pissed Mista off. Mista sorta lost it when they hung what looked like a used condom from the rearview mirror of the car they were using at the time and he beat the shit out of them. Of course he got the shit beat of himself too; Fugo and Narancia weren't pushovers, but that was all put to a stop when Buccellati found out.

Mista would never forget the way Buccellati had held that condom as if it were the single most sickening thing on earth and Abbacchio's creepy face in the background. Fugo and Narancia had sworn they weren't the ones who thought of it but obviously, they weren't believed. Now Mista wasn't too sure they'd been lying. The guy looked way too smug for a condom that was supposedly just filled with mayonnaise. Mista treaded lightly around Abbacchio for awhile after that, too scared to ask what that face implied.

Anyways, the three of them were severely reprimanded for using violence as the answer to their personal disputes, and that they were all supposed to be friends. Buccellati didn't really seem to get it when they tried to explain that they wouldn't fight like this with their friends.

"But you fight enemies all the time?"

"Yeah but it's _different,"_ chorused three voices at once. Buccellati looked a little confused that even Fugo agreed with them but decided to just disregard it in favor of adding an additional scolding to Fugo and Narancia for belittling Mista's movie choices, and that Mista had picked a very nice movie and that type of thing was relaxing and a classic. It was a little like having a mom embarrass the shit out of you but also validating you, and Mista thought that was good enough.

Showing it to Giorno was different.

It was late one night, after the don had been up working since 4 AM but had insisted on spending time with Mista despite the gunman's complaints and protests.

"It's your _birthday,_ Mista. This is the very least I can do, as all my other plans did not work out due to the unexpected issues within our export department. Now pick something for us both to watch."

Mista really wanted to ask 'what other plans?' but kept his mouth shut for fear that Giorno might try to reschedule them if he seemed eager. They were too busy this next week and honestly, he never cared much about his birthday- but he did care about Giorno, and if that's what it took to make the blond happy after a long day of stressful work, oh well.

So he took the movie out from its special place in the small bookshelf in his room and placed the DVD in the player with the care of a seasoned professional who had long since learned how to handle DVDs and not get fingerprints or scratches on them. Settling into the soft leather couch in the room attached to Giorno's bedroom, Mista readied himself for an emotional two hours as the screen opened on the mailbox of Mr. and Mrs. Richard Johnson.

He was determined to not cry this time, and it was like the tenth time he'd seen the film, so it wouldn't be too difficult. Still, he hoped Giorno would react better than the other guys had. They had all told him at some point that it really was a good movie, but the knowledge of Mista liking chick flicks was just too much to not be teased about it at least once or twice a month when the newest releases debuted at the box office.

It happened at the climactic final scene, the one where Francesca almost got out of the car to be whisked away to who-knows-where with her one true love, and Mista watched with bated breath to see Meryl Streep's flawless performance. He felt something next to him and glanced over. Giorno had gotten progressively closer and closer to him throughout the movie, this was for sure, even though Mista'd initially thought he was imagining it, and now the don's hand was gripped around the hem of his sweater. Giorno's brilliantly green eyes were glued to the screen and… was that _water?_ Was he- no, no it couldn't be. But then again…

Hoping he wasn't overstepping anything, Mista hesitated for only a second before he stretched his arm out and wrapped it around Giorno's shoulders because bros can give their bros support like this and it's all fine and normal and not gay. The blond instantly pressed into his side, still holding onto his shirt and Mista couldn't really see his face anymore but honestly? He didn't care as much as he cared about the weird feeling in his chest at Giorno's touch- though he still didn't miss the way the blond's hand clenched tighter when Francesca finally let go of the door handle.

When the movie ended and the credits started rolling, Mista casually used sitting up straight and stretching as a way to remove his arm without making it awkward. Giorno had turned to him almost immediately and praised his taste in movies before launching into a massive analysis about the final scene and all the symbolism and how Meryl Streep did such a splendid job and though Mista had never been one for that kind of analytical movie talk, he definitely was when Giorno was the one doing it.

The whole exchange left a strange bubbly feeling in his gut that had a side of giddiness and though it was weird, it was a really nice feeling. Knowing Giorno had enjoyed the movie made him like it even more and he added that birthday night to his list of favorite things.

Something else that had everything to do with Giorno (and was quickly becoming another one of his favorites) was that, when Mista was driving him places, he could play whatever music he wanted and Giorno never said a word.

Which meant, when they made the long two hour drive between Rome and Naples (that they made way too often in Mista's opinion, can't the Roma capo run something by himself for once, God), he could listen to the Carpenters as much as he wanted without any irritating teenagers complaining about his music tastes and insisting on listening to something different.

Mista liked to think he knew what made good music. His taste was good. Narancia's was bad. It wasn't that rap was bad, it was that _Narancia_ was bad. Therefore, Mista never relinquished the figurative aux during the drives, despite the many (violent) protests he received, unless Buccellati specifically said so. Which was also fine because Buccellati's music was nice too, jazz was nice once in awhile.

But Giorno? He'd just sit there, quietly tapping his finger along at certain songs while he stared out the window in a way that made it obvious he didn't even realize he was doing it. It was pretty damn cute- in a totally normal, platonic way.

If he could, he'd want to play his favorites over and over again, but he figured there was only so many loops of Maybe It's You until Giorno lost it, so Mista made sure to change it up every once in awhile with what he hoped were some of Giorno's favorites too. He always seemed to enjoy the soft-rock songs over the more pop-esque ones, so Mista played them more often.

Sometimes Giorno would mention that he'd heard the song playing in a restaurant or the lobby of a hotel or wherever he had been recently and Mista always relished those moments because it meant his boss was actually paying attention and thinking of him.

Mista had never been a big fan of the cheesy, over-the-top romance ones that were so popular at weddings; sure, they were good (everything by the Carpenters was), but there was better out there and, as a true fan, Mista knew it. That rule of thumb had never had any exceptions until one April night that he'd burst into the kitchen of the massive mansion Giorno owned and lived in, gun out and Pistols at the ready because the don hadn't been in his bed and hadn't said a word to Mista- granted, that could've been because he was passed out leaning up against Giorno's bed, but maybe it wasn't that.

A very startled Giorno spun around from… whatever he was doing to stare at him in shock, soft dance music playing in the background.

"...You weren't in bed," Mista said dumbly, feeling like he needed an explanation as Pistols darted over to greet Giorno happily.

"You were sleeping. Waking you wasn't necessary," Giorno explained back, raising a hand to stroke each Pistol's head gently while giving them soft smiles in return for their eager cheers.

'_Passed out it is,'_ Mista thought as he holstered his gun in his pants, directing his attention to Sex Pistols as he tried to usher them back to bed under his cap. Eventually they left Giorno alone and disappeared (thank God) and the two humans were left alone in the kitchen a little after 3 AM.

"Hey boss, with respect and whatever," Mista finally said, breaking the silence as a shit-eating grin crossed his face. "Your dancing sucks ass."

Giorno looked away but Mista could see the light pink color his cheeks had turned in the dim light, a small pout on his face. "I was hoping you hadn't seen that."

"Hopes ain't worth shit, I guess," the gunman replied. "Why were you dancin' anyway? 'S late."

"I couldn't sleep," Giorno confessed, crossing his arms over his chest as he turned back to Mista. "And I couldn't stop thinking either. You know how we attended the opening ceremony of the new bar in downtown Naples last night?" Mista nodded and Giorno continued, "You were dancing very well. It seems each time during dinner parties or at bars, I catch a glimpse of you dancing so happily, and I always wish I could join you; however, as you have seen, I can't seem to get the hang of it. I have two left feet I suppose."

Mista was a little surprised Giorno had been paying attention to him last night; he'd thought he'd been turned loose for the heck of it so he had gotten down and dirty with some of the other bar patrons on the dancefloor. He hadn't kicked it in awhile, so it felt damn good. As far as he knew, Giorno had been above him on the second floor balcony dealing with a business discussion about the patrons and drug and alcohol policies with the new owner- too busy to pay attention to his bodyguard. Guess he had been wrong.

"And you thought 3 AM was a good time for practicing?"

"I wanted to surprise you," Giorno answered helplessly and Mista acted like that hadn't made his heart skip a beat.

"...Well, since I ruined your surprise 'n all," Mista said slowly as he scratched the back of his neck. "I could help teach ya? As thanks?"

The look on Giorno's face was one of pure thrill and the don's tone was nowhere near how a 22-year-old man should sound. Still, it was endearing, and Mista couldn't help but nod in agreement to the don's enthusiastic incredulation.

The song that was on then was a more upbeat, energetic one, so Mista fell into position and began to slowly walk Giorno through the steps of some of his best beginner moves. He never gave much thought to how he danced, but he figured he could come up with some stuff- for Giorno's sake.

True to form, the blond was a quick learner but he still had difficulty with some of the footwork. The man was flexible, poised, but maybe not as coordinated as Mista had initially assumed. They continued like that for a good hour or so, enough that the gunman fell into a rhythm like he always did when he danced.

When the next song came on and the back of his brain said '_find a partner'_, he immediately swung towards Giorno and grabbed the blond, one hand on the small of his back and the other lacing through Giorno's hand as he started to spin around before realizing what he was doing and instantly jerking backwards.

"S-Sorry boss! I forgot myself!" he stammered, trying to explain his actions, but Giorno looked at him oddly before saying, "That's it then?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"You aren't going to teach me the partner dances as well?"

Mista honestly hadn't been thinking about that or even planning for that. He knew it was a little weird for two guys to dance as partners, even if they were best friends (somehow that term didn't sound right but Mista didn't like thinking about complex things, so oh well). He knew it was overstepping his role, to dance with the don of one of the biggest mafias in Italy. He knew the cheesy love song playing was one he'd always thought he disliked.

But he also knew that Giorno was watching him, studying him. And he also knew that he wanted to dance.

So he reached out.

Giorno fit into his embrace as easily as all his other partners he'd always found, probably even easier than that. It was something he couldn't quite explain with words, just like how the first time they'd fought together had felt all those years ago against Ghiaccio. It felt… right. And it felt good- to dance, that is. Not Giorno. He wasn't gay, after all… at least he thought he wasn't.

Remembering that he was supposed to be teaching his boss, not just dancing and pondering his sexuality, Mista started narrating his actions and what he was doing because Giorno would need to learn the man's role even though he was in the woman's position right now. Giorno just nodded along and eventually they switched positions and Mista let Giorno lead- or attempt to, anyway.

It was nice. Slow dancing was easier than what Mista had been showing him before and Giorno picked up on it quicker. When they changed roles again with the change of songs, the blond made no attempts to take over and Mista gradually felt himself drifting closer and closer to the man until they were pressed up close together, their breathing even.

He could feel Giorno's heart beat against his chest, the soft breath brushing over his shoulder where the don's chin reached just over his shoulder, the faintly sweet fragrance of jasmine shampoo drifting to him from the golden braid stretching down the smaller man's back. This felt far more intimate than Mista had ever intended it to. But how could he resist?

When the music changed again, they still stayed next to each other. Even though it wasn't a slow song, Mista couldn't bring himself to pull away.

We've Only Just Begun became one of his new favorite songs after that night.

There were plenty of other things Mista liked. He liked napping, liked finding all the secret nooks and crannies that were perfect for it within Giorno's mansion, liked the couch his boss eventually bought for his office because Mista was starting to perfect the art of falling asleep on his feet during his guard duty, liked complaining while he had to scoot over so that Giorno could rest as well, liked waking up to see the soft rise and fall of the chest of the man next to him who had leaned up against him at some point.

He liked wine, liked sipping dry whites while he watched over his boss during a business dinner, liked sharing sweet reds during the rare movie nights their schedule allowed, liked clinking pink champagne in toasts over celebration of deals and missions gone well, liked mixing up a screwdriver for himself and a mimosa for his boss against a backdrop of sunrise the morning after he'd spent the whole night dancing with Giorno.

He liked taking the scenic route when there was time for it to admire all the gorgeous landscapes that Italy had to offer, and to show Giorno the beauty of the country he worked so damn hard to protect.

He liked strolling through the back alleys of Naples in the early light of dawn on the way to pick up pastries for breakfast, a cherry-filled sweet croissant for Giorno and a braided pecan pastry for himself.

He liked smelling the scent of the ocean drifting through the open windows of Giorno's office, whisking the curtains around just enough that they made the golden-haired man hard at work seem almost angelic.

He liked hearing the chirp of birds and the murmurs of passersby when they ate lunch at regional cafes while checking in for updates with the capos, knowing they'd be in a new town the same time tomorrow.

He liked watching the sunset from the massive wall-sized glass panes in Giorno's private sitting room with his boss curled up next to him sound asleep, knowing full well he'd have to carry the man to his bed because there was no way he'd wake up before morning.

Huh.

Now that Mista thought about it, all his memories of his favorite things had gradually become memories of Giorno as well. When did that happen?

Oh well. It wasn't like he was all that surprised. Mista had always had a long list of things he liked. Giorno just happened to be at the top of that list.

…Maybe he _was _a little gay. But whoever said there was something wrong with that? Certainly not Mista.


End file.
